December 19, 2015

The Circuitous Route

Thing is, when I walked out the door today, I knew where I
wanted to finish my run, I just
didn’t know exactly how to get there. What the hell. I figured I’d figure it
out along the way. What good is a run without some form of doubt lingering in
an anal retentive state of mind. Let’s just call it therapy.

I tried to keep the gear basic. Old school hand-held with
water only, ball cap and headphones. The shorts with no pockets were new for
me, but I was able to stuff the wad of TP under the elastic belt around my
waist. Emergencies? Not a problem. All good until I glanced at my shadow on the
trail and saw the TP flickering like a five foot birthday streamer from my ass.
Why were those people laughing at me?

Ok, I have to admit it. I hate being passed by other
runners. I don’t care if I’m doing an hour-long tempo run, or a five-hour long
run. I just can’t let it go. So when this portly guy and his yellow lab ran by
me on the way up the climb out of Buck Gully, I told myself to remain calm, to
not get worked up. To consider this just a form of therapy.

As soon as he stopped to walk, I seized the moment and sprinted
by him and refused to look back. Therapy assignment blown.

It wasn’t more than an hour later when I was startled by the
sound of more feet seeking to dethrone my appointed pace. I know the term neurotic
might be entering your mind now, but give me a minute here. There were three of
them, two men and one woman, and they blew by me like a freight train. It
happened so fast I just shook my head and told myself to ignore it. Why ruin my
long run by chasing them, I thought to myself.

Then I looked up and noticed two of them were wearing
Hoka’s, and now I was just a couple of feet behind them. None of them were
carrying water. They surged ahead again, but I stayed with them. Next thing I
know I’m running next to the lead runner complementing him on his pace. This, I
assume, provoked the hammer to be thrown down by him, which meant the race was
on. We quickly dropped his friends and continued to pick up the pace. I guess
my training is working because, again, I refused to look back. Now that was therapeutic.

By now I realized I’d blown my goal of going easy and long.
Today was, well, just long. And I still had not made it to my destination!
Turns out I had to hit some city streets to make it all the way to this gem.
But when I arrived, I realized all the neurosis was worth it.

From Newport Beach to Swallows Inn, San Juan Capistrano, 26
miles via the circuitous route.Try it
sometime, you just might obsess on it.

About Me

I'm a father, husband, son, brother, runner and CEO. I took up running after college to keep it real and take the edge off of daily life. Follow me along my journey to run ultra marathons and other mind altering events.

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